Shhh... I'm having my period

I got my period a couple of days ago and I realize that people don't talk much about it. Considering that over half of the world menstruates at some point in their lives, it strikes me as somewhat peculiar that we are constantly hush hushed about it. It is amazing how many euphemisms we have for periods. I know of friends who call periods their "visiting auntie" and the attendant sanitary napkin as her overstuffed luggage. I had another friend who would only refer to her period as "it". "It has come" she would tell me while I struggle to figure out what "it" referred to.

"What's come? The anti-Christ? The apocalypse?"

"IT lah", she continues, "you know - IT!", all the while subtly pointing her index finger towards the direction of "it". I don't know about you, but with all the trouble she goes through with the pointing and all that, why can't she just say "PERIOD"?

It has always seemed like dirty business, something you don't see and certainly don't talk about. But I've lived with it for so long now, I think its high time I told my side of the story.

I got my period when I was about 13 I think (I can hardly remember now, it wasn't exactly one of those coming of age events the family celebrates. But then again, my Japanese friend tells me many Japanese households eat red rice when the daughter of the house gets her first period, so I guess it is pretty much culture specific). Anyways, by the time I had my first period, I had gone through those mandatory sex education you had in school (or health education as they were called in my days) and was well versed on what to do. I admit I panicked a little but I knew exactly what to do. I quietly went to my mother's bathroom, grabbed one of those oversized pads (I don't think the concept of ultra slims existed then, or at least my mother didn't seem to trust them) and put them on. I felt like a sumo wrestler. But the strange thing was, I didn't know how to tell my mother. So I didn't, but she found out that day anyway, then again who wouldn't with the bin filled with wads of napkins (I changed them at least 5 times that day).

What followed was something I was never to forget. My mother taught my how to dispose of these nasty napkins. She rolled them up, wrapped them in what might have been about a metre of toilet paper and stuffed them deep into the bathroom trash. It was much like the disposal of radioactive waste, careful and calculated. It is still a ritual I practice to this day. There was something about the entire act of hiding the napkin, burying them deep into the recesses where no one could see that made me feel there was something shameful in all this. Bleeding was shameful and was something all girls had to hide. I was however languid the disposal of my radioactive waste and was chided many times, only to be punished with more lessons on the importance of disposing them "properly". It was a three step act - roll, wrap and bury. My problem wasn't so much with the rolling and wrapping than with the burying. I just didn't want to dig my hands into the bathroom trash. But I was taught that this proper nuclear waste management procedure must include the important act of burying your napkin under whatever was already in the bathroom trash. Rolled up napkins had no place amongst the better company of snot filled tissues and clumps of hair.

I still menstruate and I still bemoan the days when I suffer from menstrual cramps, backaches and the all too familiar feeling of bloatedness. But I know I don't bleed alone, I never have. All this time, millions bleed alongside with me. Over half the world bleed at some point and although we may not know it, it is neither shameful or something we feel we must hide.